


D'archangel

by ChrissiHR



Series: Creature Features [7]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Angels, Angels are Dicks, DLSS2016, Darcyland Secret Santa 2016, Gen, Guardian Angels, Multi, Mythology - Freeform, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, WinterShock - Freeform, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: 100-2.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9063898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR
Summary: Darcy Lewis is the archangel Raphael, sort of, reassigned to the physical plane as guardian angel to several unique souls in need of special care and attention. Darcy and Raphael have to find a copacetic middle ground or Raphael's never going to achieve its set tasks as guardian to superheroes. Then, the other Avengers get involved and find out they've known Raphael and its kind all along, and all bets are off.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CinnaAtHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/gifts).



> Written for CinnaAtHeart for the Darcyland Secret Santa 2016 fic exchange. Yes, if you're keeping track, this is my second DLSS2016 fic. I happily offered my services as a backup for Cinna, along with several other writers, after hearing her santa backed out. Cinna provided an irresistible list of ships and some fun tropes to play with, so here we are, Chapter 1, where I’m about to take a LOT of liberties with angel mythology and MCU canon (and some vague bits and pieces from angel movies I accidentally watched once). If you’re not familiar with Dogma or Legion, consider yourself warned, my angels are nothing like Touched by an Angel, m’kay? I know it’s weird, but I promise, it’ll be worth it if you read to the end of Chapter 1. *grins* I’m treating gender and sexuality as completely fluid concepts to the angels in this story, so pronouns may vary until it finds its way in the world. Five chapters are planned, but could run one or two longer. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

The Archangel Raphael looked down upon itself with a grimace, “The sweet fuck?” It pulled its knitted raiment apart from its squishy, earthly form. “Did all the elders of Brooklyn consume the worst of San Francisco in the sixties and regurgitate it upon the present? What fresh hell is this?” it demanded of its superior in an angry hiss.

The Metatron spoke, arms and wings spread wide, “RAPHAEL, YOU ARE TASKED—”

“Banished,” Raphael muttered in disgust, loosing the ill-fitted tunic to clench its small fists.

“REASSIGNED.” The Metatron gritted its teeth. “REASSIGNED IS HARDLY BANISHED.”

“Why am I being punished?” it asked, unclenching and tugging at the itchy knitwear hem with extreme prejudice. Was the knitter blind, or simply uncaring of its color combination? Had color theory offended it? Ugh. What a truly awful garment. It hoped this type of dress was not typical of the chosen vessel’s fashion sense or things could get ugly when one had to choose its attire.

“REASSIGNMENT IS NOT PUNISHMENT. WE ARE NOT TO QUESTION ALMIGHTY GOD. WHY MUST YOU QUESTION EVERYTHING?”

“...because it feels like punishment?”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP? I AM HANDING DOWN ORDERS HERE, YOU UNGRATEFUL BRAT.”

“Fine.” Raphael sighed and rolled its eyes, fluttering its golden wings in rebellion.

“RAPHAEL, YOU ARE TASKED AS PATRON OF TRAVELERS, THE BLIND, HAPPY MEETINGS, MEDICAL CAREGIVERS, MATCHMAKERS, CHRISTIAN MARRIAGE, AND CATHOLIC STUDIES.”

“Ah, you’ve been reading my wiki page again, then.” It smirked.

“BEHOLD, THOSE WHO ARE LOST,” The Metatron continued as if uninterrupted and raised one arm (majestically, if one is impressed by such things), transporting the pair of angels to a chilly, underground facility in a far-off land. The Metatron pointed to a long, slim cryogenic chamber covered in a thick layer of dust. “THE FIRST OF YOUR CHARGES. A CATHOLIC WHO, BY THE EVIL WORK OF OTHERS, HAS LOST ITS WAY AND MUST REGAIN ITS SELF. GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.”

“No fucking shit,” Raphael muttered, approaching the chamber to peer through the glass. “Shit, fuck, and shitty shitty bang bang. Is that who I think it is?”

“IT IS.”

“And this— _he_ —is only the first of my charges? Have I not worked enough miracles? I maintain that I am being punished.” It crossed its arms and pouted.

The Metatron’s eyebrow twitched, but it refused to rise to the bait. “YOUR EARTHLY VESSEL CONTAINS ALL YOU WILL REQUIRE TO SAVE THIS SOUL.”

Raphael looked down upon its new person and finally explored the hills and valleys of its shape. “Oh,” it expressed surprise, snatching at the scratchy neckline of the tunic it would as soon burn, and looked truly upon its fleshy, pink vessel. “Breasts. Enormous breasts, too. Good God Above Us All, this miracle will be easier to work than I thought. Nice!” It made a fist and waited.

“INDEED.” Begrudgingly, The Metatron obliged, bumping its knuckles upon Raphael’s with little enthusiasm.

“Okay.” It rubbed its hands together. “Let’s see contestant number two!”

Their surroundings altered to something not dissimilar to the first, though it was at least above ground and in a known place. The Playground, a recently decommissioned secret government facility once frequented by Michael and the lower warrior angels in disguise as the human warrior, Margaret Carter, and her Howling Commandos. It seemed they’d left some of their good work unfinished. Raphael itched to roll up its sleeves and show Michael how a real archangel got the job done.

No, seriously, it literally itched. This fucking sweater had to go. It was the worst.

A compact, curvy redhead stalked down the corridor, looking right through Raphael and The Metatron, well on her way to fuck up someone’s day to judge by the expression on her face.

“THE MATCHMAKER,” The Metatron intoned.

“No way.” Raphael jogged down the corridor, lamenting the chosen form’s poor selection of undergarment as it was forced to clutch its breasts to move faster than a brisk walk without injury. “Decent lingerie is going to be the first order of business,” it muttered, following the redhead to the hangar bay where she met an unmistakable tall, blond man.

The redhead eyed the blond like a piece of perfectly cooked, rare meat. “You know, Katie, in Operations—”

“The one who’s always talking about her labia piercings?” The soldier shuddered. “No, thanks.”

Raphael pouted. A genital piercing to one who rarely had the pleasure of genitalia sounded quite appealing. It would be pleased to look upon one and consider having such in this form. After all, when in Rome…

“THE MATCHMAKER LOSES FAITH IN ITS REMARKABLE ABILITIES. YOU ARE TASKED TO ASSIST IN ITS GOOD WORK.”

“It’s not enough that I have to bring Darth back to the light side of the Force? Now I’m tasked to get Old Ben Kenobi to loosen his grip on his light saber?” Ugh. Raphael kicked a loose brick in the base of the doorway arch. “Such bullshit.”

The redhead eased back as the soldier listed all the reasons genital piercings could be problematic, not the least of which being his excessive, inhuman strength.

“That’s a solid point,” it agreed. “Perhaps someone sturdier than the average human female. Must it be female?”

“THE SOLDIER’S PREFERENCES VARY. OPTIONS ARE UNLIMITED. CHOOSE WISELY, HOWEVER.”

“Right, right.” Raphael paced up and down the corridor for a moment or two, hands in pockets, deep in thought. “Okay,” it said. “Let’s see charge number three. Maybe there’s some rhyme or reason to these first two being closer than the six degrees of Kevin Bacon.”

Raphael counted itself lucky upon seeing its third charge, a strapping male with dark skin and kind eyes as he jogged in fitted garments about a long reflecting pool in the capitol city of the United States. The male’s form would be most pleasing to the chosen vessel inhabited by Raphael on the earthly plane. It considered what it might enjoy doing with the male’s genitalia, too, if time and circumstance allowed.

“YOU ARE TASKED. QUIT THINKING WITH YOUR TEMPORARY PARTS AND CONSIDER HOW TO ACHIEVE COMPLETION.”

“Achieving completion is quite high on my list, I assure you.” It grinned, leering at the pleasing male’s form. “How is this one lost?” it inquired of The Metatron.

“IT HAS LOST ITS PURPOSE IN CARING FOR ITS FELLOW PERSONS. ONCE IT FOUGHT THE GOOD FIGHT AND KNEW IT DID GOOD WORK. NO LONGER. FUNDING CUTS. POLITICS. THE SCUM OF ITS CAPITOL. IT DOUBTS. IT REQUIRES FOCUS AND DIRECTION. YOU WILL ASSIST IT IN FINDING ITS PROPER PLACE WITHIN THE INTERCONNECTEDNESS OF THE GREATER GOOD.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie,” it groused, then took off at a light jog, hands on breasts, to run beside the caregiver. “His face is quite pleasing, too, and smiles with good humor, even while participating in this tortuous task. Exercising.” Raphael shook its head. “Why humans deny themselves pleasure and joy to live longer and stave off the raptures of the afterlife, I will never understand. Such odd creatures.”

“ONE GETS NO ARGUMENT ON THIS POINT.”

And so, finally, they agreed on something, at last.

“What of the other?” Raphael asked, slowing to a halt as its third charge carried on its meaningless circuits about the reflecting pool.

“ONE MAY REMEMBER IT FROM ONE’S LAST VISIT IN THE FLESH.”

“Oh?”

The green of the lawns disappeared to be replaced by the shining golds of Asgard.

“THERE.” The Metatron pointed.

An armor-clad warrior fought, calling all comers until the last man fell away, crying defeat. She rose above, dark hair falling in rippling waves, a shining curtain of contrast against the plate mail covering her torso. She was, as she had always been, magnificently suited to her greater purpose.

“How is this one lost?” Raphael asked, brow furrowed with worry for one it once counted as friend.

“THE TRAVELER. A CRISIS COMES AND ONE FALTERS WHEN IT FAILS IN ITS MISSION. IT DOES NOT KNOW FAILURE. IT DOUBTS. IT WANDERS. IT RECONSIDERS THE TRUTH OF ITS PURPOSE. YOU WILL GIVE IT HOPE AND ASK IT TO ATTEND YOUR TASK WHEN IT IS CALLED.”

“The Four are interconnected in some way...?” Raphael began to see how the threads of fate might ultimately weave the Four together. “There’s higher purpose at work. I understand,” it said aloud.

“YOU THINK YOU DO. YOU WILL LEARN.” And with that, The Metatron was gone, leaving Raphael to its work.

Though giving hope to the fourth charge would come easiest, the groundwork must be laid for the others, too. It rubbed its hands on its leg coverings and began to plan. First things first, Raphael needed to learn everything about its new, chosen vessel, the human student known as Darcy Lewis. Surely there would be more to Darcy Lewis than large breasts and this terrible, itchy, ill-fitted knitwear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is on indefinite hiatus until the muse and I can sort out our creative differences. It's not abandoned, just temporarily simmering on the back burner until all the ideas I want to cram into it are scaled down to a few manageable plot points. To read the alternate gift fic I _completed_ for cinnaatheart, check out my WinterShock Mermaid Apocalypse AU, "Tomorrow" and some of the other fun one-shots in my Creature Feature series, inspired by cinna.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on tumblr, if you like @ <https://chrissihr.tumblr.com/>


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